


Letters and Late Night Realizations

by henloamhere



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Angst, But probably mostly angst, Idk if this is a fix it fic or an angst, M/M, anderperry, angsty anderperry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 21:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henloamhere/pseuds/henloamhere
Summary: "Love is not with the eyes,But with the mind,And therefore is wingedCupid painted blind."~William Shakespeare





	Letters and Late Night Realizations

**Author's Note:**

> So like I’ve made an au where Neil wrote letters so if he wanted to say to Todd he’d write it there if Neil wasn’t brave enough to do it

Two years since that fateful night, and it was just now that Todd found those letters.

He felt sick when he found them, but the feeling wasn’t the same as a cold kind of sick.

More like seasick. Todd’s head spun as bile rose and fell in his throat while the dorm he had shared with his late companion swayed around him. Everything was a constant reminder of him; hiraeth worsening with anything his eyes would land. Anything could give Todd a projection of unruly dark hair, soft brown eyes glinting with mischief, and a mouth that was always curled up into a smirk or a smile.

The blond swore under his breath, his ears instinctively waiting for a teasing response that never came. And so, the bile in his throat rose and exit again as the room felt too big and too cold without Neil Perry’s perpetually welcoming form.

~~~

Events were happening too quickly for him, too much time seemed to be a distant and impossible dream as his life fell apart similarly to books with no satisfactory resolution, the reader left with a feeling of emptiness and dysphoria. With shaking hands, he wiped the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. His heart was pounding as he knew that whatever he was going to find out about Neil would only make him long for some form of a miraculous resurrection more.

Todd laughed dryly. Who was Neil? Jesus coming back on the Third Day?

Each letter was dated on the front where the folded paper opened. It took Todd hours upon hours to sort each one in order, but he managed. He took the oldest paper out, which had been dated: “29th of August, 1963”, the first day of freshman year.

‘To My Roommate, Todd Anderson...’

Todd tried to laugh, he really did, but the only sounds that left his lips were choked back sobs and small whispers of ‘Oh God’ as he read the next few lines, which consisted of Neil’s eccentric nature ever present in the wording as he explained why he was going to write more of these letters, concluding the letter with:

“You know what? I’m going to befriend you right now! You can’t escape my friendliness, Todd!

Sincerely,

Neil Perry!”

Todd laughed at the final line.

He didn’t run away from Neil’s kindness, he ran towards it.

~~~

Weeks turned into months as Todd continued to read the letters. Shedding tears became part of his nightly routine, right next to the part of the day where he read a letter from the hundreds under Neil’s mattress. Occasionally, he’d read two when the one he had initially read was less than half of a page long. Every letter became more personal than the last, and at one point, Neil revealed his depression, and everything clicked.

All of Neil’s insane decisions and late-night conversations with Todd had been attempts to keep him from thinking about the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind. Todd felt a sense of pride swell inside of him at the fact that he helped Neil through hard times, but the feeling was quickly shot down because he didn’t help him enough.

~~~

Opening a letter began as a warm feeling, but with each letter, the feeling grew colder with the reality of nearing yet another end of Neil Perry. After three and a half months of reading each letter nightly, Todd picked up the final letter, where the writing had reached the back unlike the other letters. It was crumpled and ripped, as if Neil had intended to throw it out but never did. On the top right corner, the letter had been dated: “10th of November, 1964”. The night before the play and an event Todd refuses to mention.

Todd took a deep breath and picked it up, taking quick notice on how the writing had been hastily done.

'To My Dearest, Todd Anderson,

I... I need to tell you something.

You know how I’ve been kind of out of it lately? Truth be told, I’m nervous. I’m really nervous. I might look and act like I’m not but I really am. You’ve probably noticed it already, but I just needed a way to admit it. I’m not nervous about the show.

I’m nervous at how my father will react.

You know why, I’m sure of it. But I just... I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say. What he might do.

But if it ends up with me leaving to a different boarding school across the country, just know that... when I’m not there for you, Charlie and Knox are. Pitts and Meeks are. Keating’s there too. (I don’t really trust Cameron, but to be honest, who does?)

And if you ever need me you could always send a letter or give me a call. I wouldn’t mind.’

Neil’s already messy handwriting began to look more rushed as Todd read even further, the usual laid-back script turned into a rushed cursive, as if Neil had realized he was running out of time. And he was.

Once Todd had reached the end of the letter, his tear ducts had emptied themselves out. He folded the letter, placing it in the neat pile of what he thought was about a hundred letters.

Todd placed the letters inside of the night stand, reaching over to shut the lamp off. He accidentally tipped the lamp but caught it just before it had the chance to fall off. He saw a folded paper hidden on the bottom of the lamp, carefully plucking it out and placing the lamp back down.

He unfolded it, taking his time in the process for fear of what was in it.

‘I’m so sorry to cause you all of this pain. As I’m writing this, it’s a few minutes before I leave and go to the theatre to perform. I know you might be going through a lot by the time you read this, and I might only be making things worse but... it’s now or never I guess.

Todd. Please, Todd, I beg of you: don’t think any different of me when I say this but…

I... I love you.

Not in a platonic way, but romantically. 

Yeah. Your best friend, a queer. I’ve been so scared to admit it to you in person that all I can do is admit it through ink on a page. And now I can’t admit it because I’m dead. It’s a tough phrase to choke out, but I’m dead.

I really, truly do, love you. I’m sorry to cause you all of this pain. At this point, as I’ve said before, I’m dead. This is not some sick joke because if it was, I’d be there with you, right now, as if this letter does not exist.

I’ve thought everything out, and frankly, I know what I’ll do after the play. And when I die, just know that I’ll still be with you.

So, this is my final farewell to you, Todd. I’ll meet you in the wood, but in the meantime: seize the day.

Forever yours,

Neil Perry.'

**Author's Note:**

> How’d you like it?


End file.
